Left 4 Documentary
by MissF.A.T
Summary: Not literally a documentary, but it is a story about the Special Infected and their lives. The SI are more true to the game and more realistic. May be mature later, but idk.


Paul Maddison sat in a wooden chair, hunched over, murmuring to himself. Spittle dripped down his chin, and from time to time he would suddenly giggle to himself. He was surrounded by other patients of the asylum, and was meant to be watching the television. But he, not unlike the others around him, was never really completely in his own mind – the TV was more of a kind gesture than anything.

An orderly approached him, a small medicine cup full of pills in one hand, a paper cup with water in the other. Another orderly followed behind him.

"Time for the meds, Paulie," said the man with the pills. Paul didn't react to the men, but he knew they were there. The man waited for a moment. "C'mon, Paul. You gotta take your meds."

"Won't help," said Paul, barely audible.

"Won't help? What won't help?" asked the second man.

"Pills ain't gonna stop it," said Paul, then laughed. The second man looked at the first, who shrugged.

"Paul. Medicine. Now," said the first man. Finally, Paul turned his head to look at the men. The first man held out the cup and pills, which Paul took with his constantly trembling hands.

"Pills aren't gonna help it, man," said Paul, laughing for a while this time. The second man frowned.

"Hey, Paul, you wanna go back to your room for a bit?" he asked. Paul shook his head and began rocking a little.

"It'll get me in my room. It'll get you, too. It'll get all of us."

"Ehh, come on, Paul. Let's go back to your room," insisted the second man. Paul made no protests, climbing to his feet. He walked slowly, more at a shuffle, and walked with his head hanging.

As they walked by the doors to the cafeteria, the sounds of vomiting could be heard. The man accompanying Paul grimaced, but Paul, as usual, gave no reaction.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang. The cafeteria doors had been flung open, one of which slammed against the wall. Another patient lunged at Paul and the orderly, screaming. The man grabbed Paul by the back of the shirt, pulled him close, and bit into his shoulder.

Paul screamed, too, and began to thrash around, trying to get the other away. The other patient let go of Paul and the orderly grabbed him. Paul yelled, his words gibberish, and whipped around. He was crying, but pissed. He tackled the other patient, causing the three of them to fall onto the floor in a heap. In the struggle, the orderly was bit as well, before his coworkers managed to drag the patients apart.

Both Paul and the orderly were bleeding. The other patient had bit hard enough to break skin. Paul and the other patient were both fighting against their captors. The other patient was quickly sedated, and became limp within a few minutes.

"Paul, calm down, Paul. You're okay," said the orderly that had gotten bit, ignoring the others' pleas for him to seek medical attention. Paul shook his head furiously.

"_No! It's got me. Pills won't help – pills wont help! I'm gonna die!_" yelled Paul, struggling hard enough that two orderlies were forced to restrain him. A third was working on a syringe filled with sedatives.

"Hey, wait a minute," said the bitten orderly, before returning his attention to Paul. "Paul, it's okay. You're gonna be okay. We're just gonna get you looked at and you'll go back to your room." Paul ignored the man, continuing to yell about medicine and dying. Finally, he was injected with the sedatives. He continued to fight, though he became weaker and weaker as the medicine took effect. Finally, he, too, hung rather limply in his captor's grips.

Paul was promptly taken to the medical wing, then deposited in his room. He came-to screaming, and began to freak out once more. He ripped off the coverings of his bed, managing to tear a hole into one of his pillows. He knocked over the nightstand and chair that furnished the room, and then began hitting the walls with his fists and head.

After a couple of attempts to calm him, he was sedated once more and placed in a straight jacket. They then took him to the quiet room, where he remained for a couple of days.

On the third day, he was removed to the medical wing once more. He was vomiting, with a fever. He was shaking more than usual, but still prone to his random fits of laughter. The doctors dismissed it as the flu, and he was returned to his old room.

As a week progressed, Paul slowly changed. He seemed to shrink and hunch over, as though affected by a spinal problem. His upper back and shoulders began to bulge, as though he was rapidly becoming a hunchback. The doctors were disturbed, and he was quickly moved from the asylum to a hospital.

The hospitals were already overwhelmed with patients that had, of late, come to display frighteningly unusual symptoms. By mistake or by prejudice, Paul seemed to slip through the cracks.

As the days bore on, he lost his ability to speak. Now only burst of wild laughter came from the sick man. His legs seemed to oddly shrink, while his arms elongated and his hands grew. His hunchback had become so grotesquely big that he was now essentially forced to walk in an apelike manner. His shaking had become highly incessant. He slowly lost what little sanity he had left.

It had been a week and two days after he had been bitten by the infected patient. And the transformation was complete. Paul had paced the room that night, occasionally leaping back and forth between the bed and the chair. Finally, as the sun rose, he noticed the window in the far wall. Laughing, he hurried toward it.

The door opened and a nurse walked in, her mind more focused on other things. She had become accustomed to the laughter – after all, Paul was not the only one afflicted with the endless giggles. Paul noticed her, though. He stared at her for a moment, an unexplainable rage building inside of him. Suddenly he leaped toward her, grabbing her. He scrambled up onto her shoulders, as though receiving a piggy-back ride. He began to laugh manically as he slashed at her face. She screamed and stumbled around, grabbing at him but unable to dislodge him. Suddenly, he found purchase on her head and twisted sharply with his hands. There was a sickening crack as her neck snapped.

Paul fell to the ground with her, but quickly scrambled to his feet. He ran out of the open door – or, at least, what could be considered closest to running for him. Several people screamed, most being the members of family members visiting the sick. He ignored them and headed for his goal – the large wall-to-ceiling window just down the hall. He launched himself at them with enough force to crack them. He could only laugh, though he was only enraged. The nurses and doctors at the nearby desk seemed too shocked to react. With another full body throw, he managed to break through the glass. He grabbed onto the bottom of the window pane, quickly saving himself from a five-story fall. With a seemingly impossible strength, he jumped, propelling himself onto the next roof, and disappeared.


End file.
